


Scents And Sensibility

by revenblue



Series: [collection] but you keep spinning 'round me just the same (Perryshmirtz) [78]
Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Feelings Realisation, M/M, POV Second Person, Perry is bad at feelings, Scents & Smells, Unacknowledged Feelings, stealing your crush's clothes for the smell is totally platonic right? XD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 13:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20528720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revenblue/pseuds/revenblue
Summary: And, at the end, when you've slammed your paw on the self-destruct button and the room fills with soot, you linger for just a second to savour the scent ofvictory.





	Scents And Sensibility

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the r/fanfiction August challenge. I know it's September now but there was an extension because reasons so I'm just squeezing in under the new deadline XD
> 
> Warnings in endnotes.

Your nemesis changed his shampoo. Faint as it is, it's hard not to notice the scent of _coconut_ in the back of your throat when you're this close (holding his arm behind his back, foot planted in the centre of his shoulders, making sure there's no way for him to escape), so different from the strawberry you've come to expect.

Making a note to check what sales the supermarket had last week, you let out a low chirr. It's part of your job. Can't have your nemesis causing trouble with his purchases, let alone anything else.

In the meantime, you have a scheme to thwart.

* * *

Breath mints.

He must be going on another date with some lady he found on the internet again. Not that she'll stick around. They never do. Something about his _personality_, probably, although you've never had an issue with it.

Sure, he's fucked up, insecure, needy, and emotional, but aren't all evil scientists? This is nothing _new_.

He's managed to tone it down from when you first met him, at least. Evil science has been good for him. It's something to be grateful for, that he's found some _stability_ in his life, something (some_one_) to rely on, even if it _is_ just his nemesis.

* * *

He's wearing cologne again. _Strong_ cologne, strong enough that you have to hold yourself back from gagging whenever you take in a lungful of it, heavy and cloying on your tongue. It's disgusting what humans seem to think is _attractive_.

"Perry the Platypus? Are you alright?"

Breathing as shallowly as you can, you nod, eyes watering. You can still thwart him through this, you've done it before. Close your eyes, close your nose, raise your fists, and listen.

"Is it my cologne?" he asks, audibly twisting around. Probably wringing his hands together too. "I had no idea it was so _strong_, I don't notice it any more. You should have _said_ something. Why do I bother with it _anyway_, it's not like it's making me any more _manly_, there's no point! Hold on, I have a fan somewhere- is that better?"

Much.

* * *

Now that he's stopped using cologne, you can catch the subtler scents that linger about him. His bodywash, of course. And, when you get right up close and personal, _pork_. Whatever backstory he'd glossed over so long ago, right before he'd introduced you to Balloony, the effects still remain.

It's not something you've ever received a proper explanation for, and part of you doubts you ever will. It's his story to tell, when (_if_) he chooses to.

Until then, you'll keep this to yourself. He doesn't need anything more to be insecure about.

* * *

Some days, he smells more of soot than anything, dry and sharp in your lungs. Usually _after_ you've thwarted him, when his inator's blown up in his face as usual.

It's a scent you've come to associate with his bright grin as you face off against him, Good versus Evil, man to platypus. He enjoys the thwarting, you think. Feeling like he means something. Which he _does_, as your nemesis, your lifelong enemy. Fighting him is the greatest feeling you could ever have.

And, at the end, when you've slammed your paw on the self-destruct button and the room fills with soot, you linger for just a second to savour the scent of _victory_.

* * *

His lab coats take on every scent of his after a while, even through the wash. Sweat and soot and the lingering scent of the cologne he used to wear (not so bad in small doses). So, when you don't even get that much, you know he's bought new ones.

How many does he have now? Enough that he's unlikely to miss _one_. Or, well, a few by now.

You've been studying him in your spare time, late at night in your lair, running the thick fabric of his lab coat through your paws. An old one, soft from wear. The myriad scents of it swirl together in your head until all you know is _him_, the man you call your nemesis.

What is it about this man, about _Heinz_, that you're so determined to understand? So _exhilarated_ by the thought of fighting him? Is it that you've finally found your only lifelong enemy? It must be.

* * *

There are days when your fights bring you face to face, nose to bill, and the scents of his breath wash over you. You've come to recognise them, now: That swill he calls coffee. Some strange Drusselstinian food he hasn't introduced you to yet. Raw meat.

Humans don't always cook their meat, true, but with him it's always paired with dirt and crushed leaves and faintly rotting underbrush, like he's been _hunting_.

For all you know, he does.

There has to be some reason he's still considered an ocelot after so long in human society. Quite frankly, it wouldn't even be the weirdest thing he's done.

* * *

The worst days are when he reeks of copper. Of _blood_. Another hidden injury he won't admit to, but you can always tell. He's not as good at hiding it as he thinks he is.

A limp during his monologue. A wince when you kick him in the ribs. A black eye.

Remnants of your previous fights, if you're lucky. Other things, if you're not. You try not to think about it too much.

The last thing he wants is your pity. He's said as much, the one time you offered to help bandage his wounds to assuage your own guilt, so you don't any more. Nor do you pull your punches.

All he wants is for you to thwart him the way you always do. That's why you're here, and you both know it. What else are you supposed to do?

* * *

You spend your nights in your lair, curled up in the lab coat you'd taken to ward off the chill, working on your report. Thinking through the day's events.

Not all of it makes it to the page. How close he'd been, arm across your shoulders with his weight behind it, mint on his breath and nothing in his schedule. Whoever he wanted to impress this time, he hadn't made plans to meet them.

Or hadn't _needed_ to.

He's been acting differently this last week. Looking away, unable to meet your eyes. Flushing pink from the exertion of your fights. Not even touching his dating profiles. Taken separately, you'd dismissed them, but you have to ask.

Does he...?

More importantly, do _you_...?

Pressing your face to the lab coat, you inhale all the scents you've come to know so well. Soot, metal, sweat, grass, the cheap detergent that can't cover any of it. You let out a soft growl, paws shaking from the intensity of your feelings.

How did you ever think this was a _nemesis_ thing? It's not (just) fighting him that makes your heart beat faster, not (just) passion for your job that has you eager to see him each day.

You, Perry the Platypus, have feelings for your nemesis, as unprofessional as that is.

The only thing left to do is tell him.

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** An implication that could suggest potential self-harm. Pretty ambiguous, but better safe than sorry.
> 
> Title changed August 15, 2020, because I misheard the lyrics I used originally. Thanks abbean for the replacement :D
> 
> Perryshmirtz server link in series description.


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